


Rickmas at the Lab

by TripleX_Tyrant



Category: Pocket Mortys, Rick and Morty
Genre: Anal Sex, Light Bondage, M/M, Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 23:18:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9040532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TripleX_Tyrant/pseuds/TripleX_Tyrant
Summary: Lab Rick isn't a fan of a certain cocky surgeon. Someone's gotta be the one in charge.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Surgeon Rick/Lab Rick is a pairing I've been interested in for a while. I'm excited to have written it as a Secret Santa gift, and I really hope that my person enjoys it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Happy Holidays, everyone!

When the Council of Ricks realized that this whole Morty battling craze could be a lucrative business opportunity, they rounded up Ricks whose specialties made them useful to Morty trainers, gave them their own wing in the Citadel, funded them for their services, and gave them some pretty cushy deals at the existing businesses. Before he came to be known as Lab Rick, the Rick known for his business as an interdimensional traveling brain surgeon with a specialty in memory retrieval, made a mistake he would later come to regret: he passed up the Council’s offer to work in the Morty healing center.

“Like I’m gonna waste my time and talent on a bunch of cock-fighting idiot kids,” Rick had snarked to the Guard Ricks before shooting a portal and walking through, wheeling his packed portable lab behind.

It was some months later when Rick, surprised to find the Morty craze still in full swing, felt the first twinge of regret. He visited the Council, announcing his readiness to take their offer. Of course, it was too late. They already had a Rick for the Healing Center. Still, the Council allowed Rick to set up shop if he wished, but, of course, he wouldn’t be getting any of that sweet funding that he _knew_ the other Ricks were taking advantage of for their own projects.

With a hope that he could prove himself a better doctor than the so-called Surgeon Rick, Rick set up Morty Labs, and Lab Rick was born. In the first two days of business, Lab Rick got a good idea of his customers and competitors, cataloging each as he viewed them through his eyeglass-scanner. Even Surgeon Rick, who he caught a look at through the Healing Center window. To Lab Rick, he looked like most Ricks, though with somewhat longer hair and crazy eyes. His outfit, Lab Rick determined, was ridiculous.

~*~

Two weeks later, heavy footfalls halting before Morty Labs brings Lab Rick’s attention off his experimental prodding, and to the Rick who is staring at him with suspicious eyes tinted blue-green through his visor. Lab Rick pushes his goggles up into his hairline, and with a smirk he says, “Surgeon Rick, right?”

“You got it.”

Through the opening in the Morty Labs window, Lab Rick’s brown neoprene glove claps solidly against the surgeon’s teal latex in a firm handshake. Lab Rick has prepared for this encounter. What he hasn’t prepared for, when stepping out of the Morty Labs building, is the sight of Surgeon Rick’s smock ending mid thigh, hemmed into a stiff skirt, the squared apron strapped to cling tight to the front. Hairy legs separate the space between the skirt and the tops of clumpy, teal rubber boots.

Shaking his head and meeting Surgeon Rick’s eyes, Lab Rick begins, “To what do I owe-”

“Let’s cut the shit, Rick.” Lab Rick barely gets a word in as Surgeon Rick states his business: “I know you’ve been healing Mortys on the side.” “I know you were offered my job and you’re jealous.” His final statement, which he says with his hands planted firmly on his hips, is, “If I find out you’re stealing my business again, I’ll cut your balls off.”

Then, Surgeon Rick laughs his manic laughter and walks away. Lab Rick can only watch that dumpy skirt sway. It might have ended here, but the following month gives way to a sort of paranoia for Lab Rick. Maybe he could play nice, but when he sees those wild eyes snap from customer to him in every passing, that too loud voice and crazed laughter ringing in his ears, he knows the surgeon thinks he’s won something. And maybe he has. And Lab Rick just can’t live with another Rick thinking he’s in charge.

 

Rickmas rolls around at the Citadel. Most Ricks take a break from their stations. The borders of the various Citadel bars blur in the mass of drunken geniuses bouncing about. The celebration is in full swing by the time Lab Rick closes shop. He puts his goggles and eyeglass-scanner in their drawer and tears away his disposable apron. Heading for the door, he grabs a thick glass bottle off the counter.

Lab Rick spots Surgeon Rick plodding about the party, having traded his clunky rubber boots for some similarly colored heeled ankle boots and white stockings that disappear under his skirt. White laces dangle in knots at the fronts of the boots. Lab Rick sneers when the surgeon bends forward to talk to a couple of drunken Ricks sitting on the ground against one of the many gaudy Rick statues. Surgeon Rick winks behind his visor and puckers his lips coquettishly, and the two Ricks laugh at whatever he’s said before he rises and walks away, one foot in front of the other, hips swaying.

Lab Rick grips the neck of the bottle and starts toward Surgeon Rick.

“Look at you, all dolled up,” he says, pulling Surgeon Rick from his short conversation with Storage Rick. Storage Rick, who’s topless, swaying in place, and holding his soaked shirt in his hand, doesn’t seem to mind the interruption, or realize their was a conversation to interrupt.

Surgeon Rick smiles. “Of course. It’s a celebration, dog.” He throws his arms out. “It’s Rickmas! Look at your boring ass, still sober this late into the night.”

“Wanna fix that?” Lab Rick lifts up the bottle so Surgeon Rick can read the label: EggNog Liqueur, written in a festive red on a creamy white background.

Retreating to a more secluded area, the two sit on the edge of one of the many pools. They don’t speak as they make quick work of the eggnog. Finally, Surgeon Rick breaks the silence.

“So just -urrp- what is this about? I’m no fan of yours, a-a-and I know you’re no fan of mine.”

“What makes you think I’m not a fan of yours?” Lab Rick asks, and Surgeon Rick snorts.

“Don’t bullshit me, pal. You resent me for taking your job, for one! I see your cute little face turn from smug to pouty and insecure every time our eyes meet. Also. Well.”

“What? Don’t trail off on me like that. ‘Also’ what?”

Surgeon Rick’s eyes meet Lab’s. He licks his lips and grins in his crazed way. Lab Rick feels his heart speeding in his chest, but things are still going as planned. He just can’t let this prick get the upper hand.

“Oh I think you know,” Surgeon Rick says.

“You’re right,” Lab Rick replies, grabbing Surgeon Rick by the chin. He brings their faces close together, watching Surgeon Rick’s eyes widen and feeling a tingle in his gut at the sight of it. Their noses almost meet when Lab Rick continues, lifting the bottle, “We’re out of eggnog.”

Surgeon Rick shivers, replying uncharacteristically quietly, “Y-y-you got any more?”

 

Things are quiet when they enter Morty Labs. Surgeon Rick is surprised when Lab Rick leads him into a back room with nothing but sterile metal walls and an examination chair with a metal table beside it. Surgeon Rick turns to him, a bit wobbly, and says, “Bit of an odd place to keep your nog. But who am I to judge?” He laughs his annoying laugh, and Lab Rick cuts it short when he slams the door shut.

“I think we both know what we’re here for,” Lab Rick says, and he sneers as he steps into Surgeon Rick’s space.

Surgeon Rick steps back, eyes darting across the room. “Woah, h-hold the phone, Rick. When’d you grow a pair?” When his butt hits the edge of the chair, he stops.

“I know you’re not used to being the one getting fucked over. I think we should fix that.”

Regaining some of his edge, Surgeon Rick straightens his back and sticks out his chest. “Pardon me. Excuse fuckin’ me. Maybe you’ve gotten so sloshed you forgot, but I didn’t fuck anybody over. Well, not you, Labby. You turned down the job. That’s your screw up. Get over it. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Surgeon Rick pats his latex-clad hand on Lab Rick’s cheek, but as he begins to step around him, Lab Rick catches Surgeon Rick by the wrist. He reaches and snatches the visor from Surgeon Rick’s face and tosses it over his shoulder. They hear it clatter on the floor. And suddenly, Lab Rick is shoving his tongue into Surgeon Rick’s mouth. Surgeon Rick barely has time to shout in protest before their lips seal. Lab Rick’s swirling, stroking tongue is intoxicating. Surgeon Rick goes dumb, weakly licking at his wild intruder.

Lab Rick pulls away. He’s still holding Surgeon Rick’s wrist, and Surgeon Rick looks delicious with his face flushed, eyes bleary, and drool running down his chin. “God damn,” Lab Rick grunts as he adjusts himself in his pants. He smirks. “You’re a lot hotter when you shut your mouth. What was that ‘also’ from before gonna be?”

“That you,” Surgeon Rick clears his throat, but his voice remains small. “You wanna fuck me.”

“And arrogant little you, you thought that was some big deal.”

Lab Rick yanks Surgeon Rick’s arm, spins him around, and shoves him onto his knees on the chair. “W-what are you doing?” he asks, trying to turn and look back, but Lab Rick keeps a firm hand on his shoulder as he reaches down and pulls a lever on the side of the chair. It springs back, reclining and forcing Surgeon Rick onto his stomach, legs stretched out behind him.

“I wonder what kinda underwear you wear under this ugly ass skirt.”

Lab Rick pushes the skirt up, stopping to admire the place where his stockings end, squeezing into his thighs. Dark hairs stick out every which way. He slips a finger into one of the stockings and snaps it.

“Is that fun?” Surgeon Rick snarks.

“Don’t you worry, baby. You’ll be having your fun in just a moment.” He pulls Surgeon Rick’s legs apart so that they fall on either side of the seat, then straddles the extended footrest himself to close the distance. With legs spread out and skirt bunched up to his hips, Lab Rick can see Surgeon Rick’s tiny, velvety red briefs. The waistband, he sees, is fuzzy and white.

“Aw, no pretty panties for me?”

Surgeon Rick turns his head onto its side on the headrest. “That’s my Rickmas best you’re lookin’ at.” Lab Rick rubs his chin, then reaches for the table. Surgeon Rick’s eyes go wide when he picks up a scalpel. “Woah, woah! Don’t you fuckin’ dare, Rick!”

Lab Rick loops his finger into the crotch of the briefs and tugs them down, then slips the scalpel under and cuts the cloth apart. He does the same at the side, then pulls the tattered underwear away.

“That’s it,” Surgeon Rick grumbles, rising onto his elbows. But Lab Rick is quick to plant a firm hand between his shoulders and force him back down. He drops the scalpel on the table before grabbing Surgeon Rick by the hips and raising his ass into the air. To his surprise, when he lets go, Surgeon Rick holds his place. Lab Rick smirks.

“Don’t worry, babe. I won’t let this hurt.” Lab Rick picks up a bottle of lube from the table. “Mm-much.” He pops the bottle open, and Surgeon Rick shivers when he feels the cold liquid drizzle over his raised ass. It rolls onto the small of his back and into his skirt, and it trickles into his crack.

Lab Rick pulls open the lower buttons of his smock, quickly undoes the front of his dark slacks, and pulls out his hard cock. He grabs the middle finger of his right glove in his teeth and pulls the glove off, dropping it to the floor before rubbing the length of his cock in his hand. His gloved hand slaps Surgeon Rick’s cheek, spreading it. He takes a moment to slather the head of his cock in the lube and across Surgeon Rick’s winking entrance before shoving his way through.

Surgeon Rick hisses, then growls at the intrusion. Lab Rick plows into him. Thrusts. Pounds. And Surgeon Rick goes dizzy, his straining legs shivering. Lab Rick grunts, sweat building on his forehead and running to the tip of his nose. Surgeon Rick is oh so tight and hot around him, and, oh God, Surgeon Rick aches for the dull pummeling his prostate receives. He tries to arch his back, trying to satiate that teased point of pleasure. His neglected dick throbs where it hangs several inches away from the cushion of the examination chair. Lab Rick’s balls swing, whacking against Surgeon Rick’s taint and making him whimper. “Ohh fuck,” he whispers.

“Haah. Y-you say somethin’ there, baby?” Lab Rick asks, unrelenting in his power play, the nails of his right hand digging into the meat of Surgeon Rick’s ass cheek.

Surgeon Rick throws his head back, hanging onto the examination chair headrest in a death grip, and shouts, “Fuck!”

Lab Rick groans, aroused at the state he’s putting the damned Rick in. If only he could see his crazed face now, pulled into a taut bow of sexual agony. He reaches and tugs the shaggy locks in his gloved hand. The rubber catches and tears a few hairs, and Surgeon Rick moans out a delirious, wanton sound. Lab Rick feels a fiery flip in his gut at that, and leaning over the other Rick, he sinks his teeth into the plastic bubble sleeve at his shoulder. His teeth break through the plastic and into Surgeon Rick’s flesh. Lab Rick growls. Surgeon Rick howls. And, oh shit, Lab Rick is seeing white hot stars, searing as he suddenly unloads his seed deep into Surgeon Rick.

As if in a haze, Lab Rick pulls away, sliding out of Surgeon Rick’s hole. His heart is hammering in his chest while he watches his cum seep out after him. On wobbly legs, he hobbles backwards, nearly trips, away from the chair. And away from Surgeon Rick, whose turning onto his back and crossing his hands behind his head. Lab Rick’s hands are on his knees, face to the floor while he tries to catch his breath, thinking about how he’s not as spry as he used to be. When he looks forward, Surgeon Rick is grinning that wild, manic smile of his. Unlike Lab Rick, he’s lucid, with eyes like a vulture’s. He’s got a knee up, the other leg thrown over it so he can tap his foot in the air. “How’s the old guy doin’?” he asks.

Lab Rick huffs dismissively, wiping at his forehead before tucking himself away. He rises, pops his back, and turns away, intending to leave the surgeon to pick up his own discarded pieces. It would be more satisfying if the asshole would act like the discarded thing he was supposed to be. But before Lab Rick can take more than a step, Surgeon Rick swings off the side of the chair and slides into his path. “Hey now,” he says, grabbing Lab Rick by the front of his uniform. “Don’t be one of those jerks who’s only interested in getting himself off, Labby. Don’t be that guy.”

“Get off of me,” Lab Rick says, only to find himself being walked backwards into the examination chair. Legs weak, he falls into it, butt hitting the padding between the seat and the footrest. He tries to stand, but Surgeon Rick easily shoves him down. Standing to one side of the chair, Surgeon Rick raises his right foot, sets it on Lab Rick’s chest, and pushes his back into the seat of the chair. The feel of Surgeon Rick’s heel pushing into his chest causes a shameful heat to rise in Lab Rick’s face.

The elbows of Surgeon Rick’s bubble sleeves are tied down with elastic bands, and he grabs the band of his ripped right sleeve, unfastening it and sliding it away, causing the bubble material to flare out. “I bet you had a lot of fun,” he says, leaning down, taking Lab Rick’s hands – one gloved and one not – and pulling them over his head, “pretending you were the one in charge here.” Lab Rick’s brow shoots up, and Surgeon Rick quickly wraps the elastic band around his wrists and around one of the metal rungs of the extended headrest. “I know I did. I mean, woo! You really got into it, baby!” He grabs his ripped sleeve and tears it further until it slides off his arm. He looks between Lab Rick and the little bite marks on his own shoulder, then winks before playfully stuffing a bit of the sleeve into Lab Rick’s mouth.

When Surgeon Rick takes his foot away and walks around to the table, Lab Rick spits the plastic out and speaks a winded, “Y-you don’t seriously wanna go again, do you?”

Surgeon Rick halts. He looks back at Lab Rick and quirks an eyebrow. “Again?” He turns and pulls up his skirt, his ruddy cock still standing at full attention. “This is still round one.”

The next moment has Surgeon Rick tearing open Lab Rick’s pants, yanking them down to bundle at the ankles of his dark brown boots. Then, grabbing him by the ankles, Surgeon Rick pulls Lab Rick down to the edge of the footrest. Reaching over to the table, Surgeon Rick snatches up the lube before swiftly ducking under Lab Rick’s mildly thrashing, tangled feet and popping back up between his bare thighs.

Pouring the lube over his erection, Surgeon Rick runs his tongue over his jagged teeth, and somehow Lab Rick finds his member stirring again. “You ruh-really are some kinda lunatic, aren’t you?”

Surgeon Rick tosses the bottle over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” He grabs Lab Rick by the thighs and hefts them up when he butts up against him. “Worried I’ll give you a heart attack?”

When Lab Rick’s only response is an overly flabbergasted sputter, Surgeon Rick cackles, and without waiting for the laughter to die, he pushes his way in.

Lab Rick curses, and Surgeon Rick thrusts away, growling, teeth bared. Lab Rick can only bury his red face in his arm while streams of whiny moans slip out of his mouth. His half hard chub bounces below his quivering belly as the whole chair rocks with Surgeon Rick’s assault. It feels like an agonizing eternity of sparks bursting where Surgeon Rick is striking his prostate with every thrust, and his eyes go wide as the fluttery pressure builds in his gut. “Oh sh-shit. Hah!” he rasps out.

“Ahh, gonna cum again already, baby?” Surgeon Rick asks, and Lab Rick doesn’t have to answer when his orgasm drizzles out of him, down his hip, and into the floor. At this point, Lab Rick figures he might as well be brain dead as Surgeon Rick doesn’t ease up until he’s gasping and saying, “Here we go.” He pulls out of Lab Rick suddenly. But before Lab Rick can even think of getting his bearings, Surgeon Rick is clambering over him, straddling his chest and cramming his piece down Lab Rick’s throat.

Lab Rick gags at the sudden intrusion. The taste of the lube is overwhelming and unpleasant, and the spunk being unloaded down his throat burns as it pushes its way into his nasal cavity. But the power. Holy Hell, the power. Why does he love it so much? Why does he love this foul strangulation at the hands of Surgeon Rick? Why does he love those hands tearing at his hair?

Surgeon Rick retreats, strands of spit and cum breaking away and slapping Lab Rick’s chin. Lab Rick feels drained. He can barely keep his eyes open. He doesn’t even gasp for air, just lets it fill him as he fades into oblivion. He hears Surgeon Rick say, “Good night,” and falls asleep to his manic laughter.

The next day, Lab Rick nurses a hangover and a sore throat as he opens shop. When he flips on the lights and steps up to his seat at the front window, he sees, pushed through to his side of the glass, a present wrapped in red and green paper. It’s thin, rectangular, about two feet tall. He tears the paper open, goes wide eyed, then smirks. It’s a page from a calendar. Probably one put together in the early days of the Morty battling craze. This page says “Ricktober” and features a photo of Surgeon Rick giving a sneaky smirk to rival Lab Rick’s own. His eyes leer with that unmatched intensity.

He turns the page around, finding a note written on the back in marker. It reads: “I had fun. Let’s have fun together again sometime. Make it soon, handsome. xoxo -Surgeon Rick”


End file.
